Border Crossings: A Catherine James Thriller (12 page)

“I’m afraid this is going to hurt a little,” said Catherine.  “I have to take off this last bit here, and it’s stuck to the skin.”

Julio said nothing, only stared at his leg and nodded in acknowledgement of the warning.  Catherine worked methodically around the edges and in this way finally managed to remove the rag.  Once done, she could see that it was indeed a bullet wound, at least what she imagined one would look like.  It hadn’t hit straight on, which was very lucky for Julio.  But it had cleaved away a good bit of tissue from the boy’s skinny leg.  It wouldn’t have been so bad had the wound been properly dressed, but now a large mound, like a
giant boil, had formed under the skin, which Catherine knew was the infection setting in.  She poured some of the iodine over it and told Julio, “This bump here is fluid under your skin.  I’m going to have to open it so it can drain out.  It’ll hurt a little, but it will also make your leg feel better afterward.  Right now it probably feels stiff and hurts when you move it?”  Julio nodded affirmatively.

“I need something sharp,” she told Maria.

“I’ll be right back,” said Maria, scurrying off to a find something.

“You’re a pretty brave little man,” she told Julio.  “Do you know the men that did this to you?”

He nodded, “Gangsters.  We came across them in the graveyard burying the girl.”

“The graveyard?” Catherine asked.  “Near here?”  Julio nodded. 
That doesn’t make much sense. 
But as her mind began to reason, she suddenly realized it made a whole lot of sense.  What better place to hide a body than someone else’s grave?

Maria returned with a small sewing repair kit and opened it, pulling a small needle from its plastic holder.  “Will this work?”

“Yes, that’s perfect,” said Catherine.  “This will help,” she told Julio.  “I’m just going to poke it right here,” Catherine prepared him, placing her finger above the bump in his wound.  “Ready?”  Julio held his breath and Catherine counted, “One, two . . .” but didn’t wait for three.  Instead, she quickly lanced the swollen target, releasing the contents, which ran out over the wound.  Julio had flinched, but it was over so quick he hardly realized it was done, and as Catherine had said, the sensation was one of pressure being released.  His leg, while stinging quite a bit, immediately felt better.  The yellowish fluid oozing from his leg was disgusting but Catherine assured him it would be much cleaner once the wound had drained.  “We have to keep this clean,” she told him, “or this infection will get much worse.”  She knew from her travels how many people died from something as easily preventable as a staph infection in even small lacerations.

She used a bandage with iodine to blot the little hole she’d made, pressing around the edges occasionally, and the wound was well cleaned when she finished.  She swathed the area and wrapped Julio’s leg in clean bandage.  Then she had him take a couple of aspirin tablets right there on the spot along with the other medicine.  “There,” she told him with a smile and pat on his back.  “We’ll have you back up and running in no time.”

Julio had never really been mothered in such a way and found it very disarming.  Despite his streetwise sense, he couldn’t help but feel much safer and comforted by this woman.

Maria had watched Catherine work and thanked her profusely.  “I don’t know what we would have done,” she told her.

“Now,” said Catherine.  “You have a decision to make, Julio.  If you’re right, there are some bad people somewhere out there looking for you.  I can take you somewhere where you’d be safe, but it’s up to you if you trust me enough.  I don’t want to leave you here, but I won’t make you do anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

Julio checked his bandage and tested his leg by moving it a bit.  It was painful, but more mobile than just a few minutes ago.  His wide eyes fell upon Maria.  “I don’t know what to do,” he told her, seeming, for the first time, like the lost little boy that he was.  He was still terribly sick and didn’t have the strength to try and go on by himself.  He knew he needed help, he just wasn’t sure if Catherine was to be trusted.  Still, he didn’t have a lot of options at the moment.

Maria leaned in and caressed his cheek.  “She’s a friend, Julio.  I can tell.  She won’t tell anyone where you are.  I think you should go with her.  I can’t keep you safe like she can.”  Auntie Nita would never allow Julio to come and stay with them if there were truly murderers chasing after him.  And given the recent turn of events it didn’t seem likely Julio would trust Auntie Nita anyway.  “You know I care about you, but I just wouldn’t know what to do if something happened.  You’re safer with Miss Catherine.”

Julio looked up at Catherine skeptically.  It was either accept her offer or take his chances on the streets.  If the men found him again, he couldn’t run like before, and even if he could, they weren’t likely to give him the chance a second time.

“Okay,” said Julio, as he finally crawled out of his little hideaway.  It took a little help for him to stand up, but once up he insisted he was okay to walk on his own.

“Okay,” said Catherine.
  “But I’m right here if you need a hand.”

When Maria returned to the lemonade stand,
Auntie Nita looked at her and demanded, “Where the hell have you been?  I’ve been sitting here alone for over an hour!”

“I’m sorry,” said Maria.  “I’m not feeling well,” she explained as she set about making more lemonade, Juan’s demise and Julio’s fate heavy on her heart. 
Auntie Nita scowled, but said nothing more.

Catherine led Julio around the market to where she had parked her car.  Julio still wouldn’t let himself be carried, which suited Catherine as she wasn’t sure she could carry him so far, so he limped along beside her and she patiently slowed her pace.  As they were crossing the street another car, the same cream colored Pontiac from the alley, suddenly spun out of its parking spot and barreled down on them.  Catherine had just heard the tires and looked up in time to see the car, its engine screaming full throttle as it rushed towards them.  Instinct took over.  She yanked Julio up into her arms and bolted.  She made for her car a few feet in front of them, and as she looked over her shoulder she saw the oncoming car’s back window slide down and the barrel of a gun protrude outward. 
Oh, God, no.

She reached the other side of the street and in a surprising display of strength and dexterity, jumped across the hood, sliding off its edge and landing on the other side with a painful thud, Julio still in her arms.  She’d made it within milliseconds.  Bullets riddled the car like a rainstorm on a tin roof, a blitz of pings and pangs.  Tires squealed as the driver slammed on his brakes.  “Stay down!” Catherine yelled at Julio. 
I’m ready for this,
she told herself. 
You can do this, Catherine. 
She was overwhelmed by the protective instinct that immediately filled her blood, sending anger, fear, and urgency pumping through her veins in pure adrenaline. 
You know what you have to do to protect yourself and this boy. 
And she was ready.  She’d been to some dangerous places in her travels and had filled out the necessary forms long ago.  Kidnapping was rampant in some parts of the world and an attractive, professional woman like her was a prime target.  She’d made sure she was prepared if ever she had to defend herself, and today was the day.  It was the same reason she’d been held up in customs.  Her hand slipped to the back of her smart pants suit and she produced a Glock 25, a .380 ACP pistol, one of the few firearm calibers which civilians could legally carry in Mexico with a proper permit.  It was also the same gun she’d carried with her for the last five years whenever she went to a particularly dangerous part of the world.  She’d never had to use it anywhere other than the gun range until now, but she had made sure she was familiar with the weapon.  She pushed Julio flat on the ground, his hands over his ears and his eyes shut tight in terror.

More shots rang out from the car, which had now stopped in the middle of the street.  The shooter opened his door and walked towards them, trying to find an angle to get a good shot as the little flurries of automatic fire repeatedly burst in their direction.  Catherine peered through the gap underneath the car they were sheltering behind and saw a pair of tennis shoes. 
Shoot, Catherine,
her inner voice was commanding. 
Shoot him now before he gets close enough to kill you both. 
She took aim and fired a shot, which struck the man where the ankle joined the foot, and immediately the man fell to his knees. 
Go now! 
Catherine jumped up.  The man saw her coming and his expression was one of bewildered fright.  The wolf expects the sheep to run for its life so that he might tear it down from behind, not turn and bare teeth of its own.  He raised his weapon again.  She fired, hitting the shooter square in the chest with the first two shots and a third struck him in the face near the bridge of his nose.  The rest of him slumped over and Catherine leaped over him with no hesitation, increasing her speed as she began running towards the assailants’ car, attempting to shoot through the rear window at an angle sufficient to hit the driver.  She was in full attack mode now, not thinking so much as just acting on instinct.  She’d no idea where this intense sense of rage sprang forth within her, but it had filled her over, and was now pouring outward with each step she took, each shot she fired.  The tires squealed again and the car lurched forward.  Catherine was right behind it, running full speed now.  She concentrated on keeping her aim steady as she ran and put three more bullets square into the back of the driver’s seat, but the driver didn’t lose control. 
I’m not hitting him,
she realized.  A few seconds later the car had pulled too far ahead for Catherine to follow, weaving through traffic before disappearing from sight.

Catherine was shaking from head to toe.  She holstered her gun and returned to Julio who was still on the ground, trembling and immobilized by the pain in his leg and the fear that strangled his heart.  “Are you hurt?” she asked him, concernedly.

Julio looked up, clearly terrified, “Are they gone?”

Catherine bent down to check him over and spoke in a comforting voice, “Yes, they’re gone.  It’s safe now.”  She was still shaking herself as she smoothed out his hair in an attempt to calm him as much as herself. 
Jesus Christ,
she thought.

She helped Julio back to his feet, taking care not to exacerbate the boy’s injured leg.  Julio looked behind Catherine at the body still lying in the street.  “You killed him?”

Catherine looked back; surprised a dead man’s body was actually there.  “Yes,” she told him.  “Yes, I think I did.”

Julio stared.  Lying in the street was a man with a gold necklace, a round and shiny medallion glinting in the sunlight, and instantly he thought it was the man from the graveyard, but as he looked he realized something disturbing.  Despite the bullet in the face, Julio suddenly realized it wasn’t the same man.  “That’s not him,” he told Catherine.  “That’s not the man I saw in the cemetery.”

Catherine had walked Julio down the street and flagged a taxi, leaving her bullet-riddled rental car at the market.  She knew it wouldn’t take long before the police ran the tag and traced it back to her.  She had to get Julio somewhere safe before she tried explaining what had happened.  She wasn’t sure exactly what she was going to tell them.

They took the taxi back towards the Hutton, but she began thinking that even though the hotel was in the very heart of activity in Cancun at the moment, it still might not be safe. 
They were waiting for that boy,
she thought. 
They might be expecting me to take him to the Hutton. 
It seemed safe with all the security, but given that an attempt had been made on them both in broad daylight at one of the most popular markets in Cancun; she decided it was still risky.  Instead, she had the taxi drop them off several blocks away, then she and Julio walked another two blocks to the Chapa Del Rey hotel.  Catherine constantly scanned their surroundings to make sure nobody was watching where they went.

“Why didn’t we just take the taxi here?” asked Julio, swinging his hurt leg in front of him like a wooden plank.

“I’m sorry,” said Catherine, truly feeling bad for all the walking they were doing.  “I didn’t want anyone to know which hotel we went to, even the driver.  Do you want me to carry you?”

Julio shook his head.  His ribs still hurt from being jerked up by Catherine earlier and he was determined to get wherever they were going on his own steam.

Catherine had Julio wait by the elevators while she rented a room in cash under a false name, the desk clerk overlooking identification when Catherine told her to keep the change, assuming she was just another reporter.

“It’s probably best if you stay here a while,” she told Julio.  “Are you hungry?”  Julio nodded.  He hadn’t eaten since the day before.

Catherine ordered chicken fingers and a Coke from room service for Julio and then told him he would have to stay in the room alone for a while.  Julio began to protest but Catherine told him, “I’ve got to go explain to the police what happened at the market.”

“Are you going to tell them about me?” asked Julio.

“No.  From what you’ve said, I don’t think I’d trust anyone with your whereabouts right now.  Nobody knows you’re here, and for now it’s best to keep it that way.”  Julio’s expression seemed to relax a little.  “I’ll be back in about an hour,” Catherine told him. 
At least I hope so.
  She wasn’t entirely sure of whether or not she’d be arrested on the spot.  “But if I’m late, just wait for me, okay?”

He nodded.  As she turned to leave Julio said, “Miss Catherine?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”  His eyes were sad and deep, those of someone much older.  “They were going to kill me.  They’re still looking for me, aren’t they?”

Catherine flashed a smile, a mask to her true concern.  Someone was certainly still looking for the boy and now probably her as well.  Things had taken a much-unforeseen turn.  She felt overwhelmed.  “You’ll be fine,” she told him in the most reassuring voice she could muster.  “Just don’t open the door, not for anyone.  If it’s me, I’ll knock like this.”  She gave a knock on the dry wall, Bump, bumpa, bump, bump . . . bump, bump.  “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Ten minutes later Catherine had returned to the market where the police were almost finished clearing the mess.

She had called Ramirez and told him what had happened, except she left off everything that had to do with Julio and said she was in the market on an anonymous tip.  He wasn’t buying the anonymous part of it, but seeing that she wasn’t going to offer any more than that, he let it be.

“You left the scene of a crime,” Vargas said when she arrived.

“I ran and hid for my life, you mean.  I wasn’t about to stay here in the open until the police
arrived.”

Ramirez lifted the sheet to look at the body.

“Do you know who he is?” asked Catherine.

“No, I don’t think so.”  He lowered the sheet.  “It’s difficult to say, though.  You did shoot him in the face.”

“May I ask why you are armed?” asked Vargas, who was now smoking a cigar and leaning against their car.  “We were told you were a private investigator.  I don’t believe that entitles you to walk the streets of Mexico armed.”

“I have a permit,” Catherine said flatly.

“I’d like to see this permit, and your gun, please,” said Vargas.  Catherine produced both.  Her gun, the Glock 25, was the most appropriate weapon for Mexico.  Any military-caliber weapon was banned, which included the 9 mm so popular in American law enforcement.  Additionally, she had to have a permit issued by a consulate, which she had diligently renewed each year.  Vargas looked at the permit skeptically, “I don’t see how it’s legal for a non-citizen to carry such a weapon on our streets.”

“Maybe you should brush up on the law, then, seeing as how you’re a police officer and all.  Article ten of the Constitution of The United States of Mexico,” she explained.  “Foreigners can’t have
unlicensed
guns or guns prohibited by law.  You’re welcome to look it up if you’re not familiar with it, sir.  You’ll find my license in order and my weapon perfectly allowable under the law.”

Vargas was fuming.  “I shall do that.”

“You sound like a lawyer,” Ramirez told her.

“Well, I am one, at least back in the states, although I doubt that matters.”

Ramirez wasn’t surprised.  He knew there was more to this woman than just being a private detective.  She had connections in Mexico, of that he was sure.  It wasn’t easy for a foreigner to acquire a gun license.  “I suppose it’s a good thing you were carrying a weapon,” he told her, taking the permit and gun from Vargas, checking them both, then handing them back to Catherine while Vargas stared at him in disbelief.

“What are you doing?” he asked.  “That’s evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” Ramirez asked.  “She’s committed no crime here.  This is clearly self-defense.  We all know that.  The only reason she’s still alive is because she was armed.  Would you take her only means of protection from her after someone just tried to kill her?”

Vargas looked to Fuentes for support, but he stood silent and motionless, unwilling to put himself out on a limb.  He didn’t know if Catherine James had done anything illegal or not and wasn’t about to have his name brought up if she was falsely arrested.  And he knew what Ramirez knew . . . if Catherine James had a license it was because someone in the government had allowed it.  Fuentes hadn’t gotten where he was by pissing people off who might have connections above his pay grade.  Having no support
, Vargas relinquished.  “Fine, if you think it’s acceptable this woman just gunned down a Mexican citizen, who am I to argue?”

“Well, you assume he’s a Mexican citizen, right?  Since you have no idea who he is,” Catherine pointed out.  “He could easily be a foreigner, too, couldn’t he?”

Vargas was quickly developing a hearty dislike for this woman.  “Yes, of course.  I would just assume, Ms. James.”

“Well, I’d rather we not assume things, detective.  That may be part of the reason the investigation into what happened to Taylor Woodall hasn’t produced any meaningful results.”

Vargas only guffawed dismissively, “Whatever you say, Ms. James.  You’re obviously the expert here.”

“Maybe,” added Ramirez.  Vargas had meant it sarcastically, but he saw no sign on Ramirez’s face that’s how his partner interpreted it.

Ramirez examined the body.  He was not so much interested in the man’s appearance as what he had been carrying.  He bent down and picked up a large plastic bag that contained the dead man’s gun, a tech nine automatic.  “This is a serious piece of hardware.  You’re lucky to be alive.”

“It’s a shame you missed the driver,” added Vargas.  “I suppose we should be grateful you didn’t kill an innocent bystander, shooting all over a busy market in the middle of the day.”

“It wasn’t so much that I missed,” said Catherine.  “The bullets ricocheted.  I suspect the vehicle’s interior was modified with metal plating or something similar.”

“They went through a lot of trouble to try and kill you, Ms. James,” said Ramirez.

It wasn’t me they were after.
  But as she thought about it, she realized he was right.  Whoever had planned that attack had taken time to prepare the getaway car for potential gunfire.  Their preparedness was discomforting.  “I suppose someone is getting worried I might find something.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?” asked Vargas.  “It was probably an attempted carjacking.”

Catherine turned and looked at Vargas incredulously.  “I hope you’re not serious.  They put an awful lot of bullets in the car I was standing next to for someone who planned on taking it.  And wouldn’t they first wait to make sure it was my car?”

“Mmmhmm,” agreed Ramirez.  “No, I don’t think this was any carjacking, either.  They were after you, Ms. James.  For whatever reason, someone wants you dead.”  He looked at her as though surmising something was hidden beneath her countenance.  “If you have anything you’d care to share, Ms. James, I would appreciate it if you did so now.  Because if you do know something you’re not telling us, that’d be obstruction.  And I think it’s pretty evident if you do know something that someone wants to make sure you don’t share it, which is all the more reason to get it out now.”

“If I learn anything worth sharing you’ll be the first to know, Detective,” she said coolly.

“What exactly were you doing here at the market?” asked Vargas.

“As I said, following up on an anonymous tip.”

“And did you learn anything?”

“I did,” said Catherine.

“And what is that?” asked Vargas.

“I learned that I’m close, otherwise why bother to try and kill me?”

Vargas’ eyes squared on Catherine as he smoked his cigar.

After answering their questions and awaiting the results of a phone call which verified the authenticity of her permit, Catherine was allowed to leave.  Vargas wanted to arrest her on the spot but Ramirez knew that besides the fact no charges would be filed it could potentially turn into a public relations’ nightmare, something he didn’t mind sharing with Fuentes.  “Do you want to explain to the governor’s office why every news channel around the world is broadcasting that someone tried to gun down the private investigator hired by this girl’s family in the middle of one of the most popular markets?”  Fuentes agreed and ordered them both to keep quiet.  They’d lose their jobs in half a heartbeat if either of them leaked that what had occurred in the market was related to the girl’s disappearance.  Already the press was descending.  Fuentes could see the headlines now, “
Gun Battle in Heart of Cancun, 1 Dead.” 
His superiors were going to be furious.

Catherine was sent on her way, but not before Ramirez offered some advice, “This anonymous tip, Ms. James.  You didn’t say how they contacted you?  Look,” he added, sensing a scowl hidden in her blue
eyes somewhere behind the icy façade, “you would do well to watch your back.  People like this aren’t likely to quit.  You’re in a lot of danger, Ms. James.  You should consider leaving Cancun.  You seem a most capable woman, but I wonder if you understand the type of people that would try something like this here in the tourist district in the middle of the day.”

“Thanks for your concern,” she told him, “but I can take care of myself.”  She wondered if that was really true or not.

Ramirez could see she didn’t trust him.  “Then be careful, Ms. James.  And feel free to call me any time.  I’m on your side, you know.”

“Are you?” she asked.

Ramirez took it as an offense.  “Yes, Ms. James.  I am.  Do you doubt it?”

“I do,” she said.  “Have you inquired after the missing boy lately, Detective?”

“Missing boy?  You mean the one the woman who came to the station told us about?  Yes, I have.”

“Really?” she asked, incredulously.  “And has he been found?

“Well, he hasn’t turned back up recently, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, Detective.  I’m asking you if he has been found.  He was reported missing after allegedly giving information in this case and I am asking you if you have found out where that boy is now.”

Ramirez ran a fingertip over his mustache.  “No,” he confessed.  “I was told he was dropped off after giving an empty lead.”

Catherine peered intently at him.  “And who told you that?  Vargas?  Perhaps you should do a little more checking, Detective.  I’d hate to think you’ve missed something.”

Ramirez was left pondering Catherine’s advice as she walked back to hail a taxi.  She’d need to rent another car right away and had a funny feeling she’d need a different rental company.

When Ramirez returned to his own car Vargas was sitting in the passenger seat still smoking his cigar.  “What was all that about?”

“Huh?  Oh, she just wanted to give me an earful.  She’s understandably upset.”

“Well, seems to me like she’s pissed off the wrong people,” said Vargas.

Ramirez turned and sized up his partner.  “You think so?” he asked.  “I wonder how she’s managed that in such a short time.”